Ironside: The Color of Death
by Mounty Swiss
Summary: You may not be able to save the world. But perhaps a little piece of it.  Set between pilot and season 1, summer 1967
1. Chapter 1

**The Color of Death (Ironside)**

Set between pilot and season 1, summer 1967

Synopsis:

You may not be able to save the world. But perhaps a little piece of it.

_Disclaimer: I don't own Ironside and his people._

_Any allusions to existing persons or companies are unintended._

**Sunday**

The little aircraft took a sharp turn and nearly crashed. With one quick movement Bill Frazer took the remote control out of his stepson's hands and brought the model back to a safe course.

"Great reaction!" Ed Brown complimented him.

"Seems as if I'm still the one in charge of all kinds of rescues," Bill laughed, alluding to the beginning of their friendship when he had "saved" little Eddie from some bullies.

Skillfully he landed the model.

"Well, boys," he addressed his stepsons Marc and Jamie, "let's take a break. I'd like to go for a short walk with Ed. That ok with you?"

The boys, being good mannered, didn't object: Their new father and his friend had been playing with them for over three hours now.

Betty, their pretty blonde mother, rose from the blanket where she had been relaxing and sunbathing for much longer than she could have expected. With a quick kiss she showed Bill that it was fine with her too: "Go ahead, enjoy yourselves!"

Ed and Bill exchanged old memories from their childhood while walking. They had known each other since Ed was in first grade and Bill in fifth. Over the years Ed had outgrown his 'big' friend by at least two inches. Ever since the beginning of their friendship, the boys had shared a mutual respect despite the age difference. This mutual respect had only got stronger since their school days. The two men stopped talking and each seemed lost in his own memories.

A few months ago Bill married Betty, a young widow who was two years older than himself, and he had adopted her two sons aged eleven and nine. Bill was the first to break the silence.

"I could envy myself. Having such a family is a gift of God."

Ed smiled. "Thank you for sharing your family with me today. Betty is a wonderful woman and a great cook and you have two fantastic kids. I've enjoyed the picnic very much and this place is so peaceful and quiet…" Ed trailed off, admiring the beauty of the landscape.

When they got back to their picnic area, Bill's and Betty's 'secret place', it was deserted.

"Betty, Marc, Jamie – where are you?" Bill shouted.

Ed followed the track of broken twigs and leaves through the undergrowth, and then he heard Jamie's high-pitched child voice: "We're here!"

The men followed his voice. They saw Marc kneeling on the ground beside the crashed model airplane.

Betty looked sad. "Bill – I'm so sorry. I didn't pay attention. The boys tried to fly the model on their own, and now it's broken."

Bill also let himself down on one knee. He tried to assess the damage. "Perhaps we can fix it... but - why is everything wet here? There's been no rain in weeks, and I can't see a creek..."

Glancing around, he noticed that Ed looked as if he had encountered a ghost: His face had lost its color and his eyes had widened in shock.

This sight didn't match the image of the fearless little boy he had got to know many years ago and even less that of the fine marine and police officer his friend had grown into. "Ed – what's the matter with you?"

Ed knew why the ground was wet. He knew only too well the faint scent in the air, and he knew why the leaves of the bushes were shriveled. Dozens of pictures raced through his mind in quick succession: Shooting – fire – people running and screaming – the burning pain in his back where the shrapnel had hit him, ending his military career... and perhaps worst of all...

"Bill – leave the model. Let's go home immediately. Please." Although Ed uttered the words very calmly, Bill did not fail to hear the urgency in his voice.

"Betty, boys, let's do as Ed says." At that, he picked Jamie up and carried him back to the picnic area. The others followed, Ed bringing up the rear.

While they were quickly stuffing into Bill's Chevy whatever they had needed for the picnic, Jamie took his stepfather's hand and asked: "Daddy, are you mad at us because of the airplane?"

Bill stopped, knelt down and laid his arm around the child's shoulders. "No, Jamie – don't worry. It's something else entirely." Even if he didn't know exactly what 'it' was, he hoped that Ed would tell him soon enough.

When they stopped in front of the Frazers' house, Ed simply got out and said to Bill: "Please, take a long shower, all of you. Change your clothes. Put everything into the washing machine, even the boys' sneakers, and clean your own shoes too."

At that, he turned around in order to leave.

Bill knew that his friend wasn't someone who would make a fuss about nothing, so he was taking his advice seriously. But he still didn't understand him.

"Why, Ed?" he asked.

"That humidity we encountered up there might be dangerous. I think it was an herbicide and defoliant we used in Vietnam: 'Agent Orange'."

_Author's note:_

_There's a timeline problem in the show. Please compare 'Nightmare Trip' (6.7) to 'Tom Dayton'(3.26) and 'Backfire' (4.11). The U.S.A. entered the Vietnam war in 1965. Ed was there as a marine ('Nightmare Trip'). But 'Tom Dayton' makes him a rookie cop in 1963 and 'Backfire' even a Sergeant in 1963/64. I've chosen the timeline of 'Nightmare Trip' and sent him to Vietnam as early as possible. Then he made it to Sergeant quite quickly..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Monday**

The following day Ed barely made it on time to the office, which earned him a risen eyebrow from the Chief and of course some banter from Eve and Mark.

"What's her name?" Eve teased.

Ed helped himself to a cup of coffee.

"Eh?" he asked, knowing perfectly well what Eve was up to, but needing some time to find a suitable answer.

"The reason why you didn't get enough sleep – what's her name?"

Ed was far too tired to think of anything witty to say. "Bill," he replied dryly.

Mark shook his head in disbelief: "Oh come on, you sure mean 'Wilhelmina'!"

The Chief shut him up with a disapproving glance.

"Sergeant, you have exactly two minutes to drink your coffee. Then we have to go to court."

Ed put his untouched cup onto the table. He _hated_ drinking coffee in a hurry. Perhaps somebody else would have it.

He hadn't slept at all the night before as images of Vietnam kept haunting him.

There were forests stripped of leaves, burning villages and dying women and children. Ed was convinced that it was sometimes necessary to fight for justice, or fight to protect those who couldn't protect themselves – or why else would he have become a police officer? But what he had seen as a marine had left him unsure if this war was actually the right way to accomplish justice and peace and protect the helpless. So – in a way – he was glad about that piece of shrapnel that put an end to his military career. He could avoid the nagging questions about that war: it wasn't _his_ war anymore. But what about all his colleagues out there who didn't have a way out – who had to go on with the killing, sometimes without even knowing who was friend or foe?

Over the following days, Ironside often wondered about his Sergeant: he seemed to have troubles concentrating on the task at hand, and the circles under his eyes were growing darker every day.

The next Friday morning, he was late, although he knew how much Ironside hated that. He hardly looked like his usual well-groomed self: he had tried to give his suit a quick clean, but there were still traces of mud on it. The Chief did not comment on Ed's appearance.

"Will you please be as good as to explain to me what the blue blazes is going on?" Ironside thundered. "You are a Sergeant of detectives, and the tax payers have the right to your full efforts. If you are not ready to provide that I expect at least an explanation!"

For a moment Ed seemed to be considering an answer. But how could the Chief understand him? He didn't fully understand what was going on himself.

The telephone saved him from having to reply.

"It was the Commissioner," Ironside informed Ed before adding in a thundering voice: "I don't want him to see anything less than your full dedication!"

The next morning Ed didn't show up at all.

**Saturday**

Ironside was angry – for about one hour. Then he became aware that there was most probably no reason for being angry. Ed might be an hour late without calling, but not more. He was basically dependable and dutiful. What could have happened? An accident? That was possible, overtired as he had looked these last few days. A threat – blackmail perhaps? That too could explain why he had been so overtired in the first place. But how could Ed be blackmailed at all? It seemed very unlikely. After Eve had made a fruitless attempt to reach him by phone at home and by radio in his car, the Chief decided to give Ed another hour but not a minute more.

After exactly sixty minutes had passed, he had Eve go through traffic reports – but there was nothing about Ed, nor any description that could remotely suggest that he had been involved in a car crash. Not a patient man by nature, Ironside had to check on his sergeant.

"Eve, you hold the fort here. Mark, you drive me to Ed's place. Let's see what we can find out."

There wasn't even a threatening "...and if he should show up..." His gut was telling him that something was wrong. _Very_ wrong.

xxxx

A quick glance around showed them that Ed's car wasn't parked in front of the house he lived in. They did not waste time and entered the house. Of course, the door to Ed's apartment was locked.

"Mark, open that door!"

Mark gave his boss a quizzical look: a few months back he would have been busted for breaking into an apartment. The look on the Chief's face told him to do as he was told.

The small apartment looked neat and tidy like its owner himself. There was no sign of Ed leaving in a hurry, no sign of violence either.

The Chief saw Thursday's newspaper lying on the living-room table. "Mark – there's a key hanging at the doorpost. It looks to me like a key to a letter box. Try and see if you can get Ed's mail!"

Soon Mark came back with the mail: Friday's and Saturday's newspapers and a letter which Ironside opened unscrupulously. It was the telephone bill for the previous month – not surprisingly a very modest amount since Ed was barely ever at home.

He most probably did not go home on Friday night, or else Friday's newspaper wouldn't have been left in the letter box.

Mark reported that the dusty brown suit Ed had been wearing on Friday was missing – so he might still be wearing it.

Ironside wheeled himself to the telephone to retrieve a notebook that had been abandoned next to it. He started examining it thoroughly. There were some light marks in the paper. He took the pencil that was lying beside the notebook and colored the sheet slightly. A few numbers became visible.

It seemed to be a phone number, obviously written down in Ed's neat handwriting. "Isn't that a number in Stockton?" Mark asked, and the Chief nodded absent-mindedly.

It was like a puzzle with too many missing pieces to get the whole picture – not even Ironside, whose sharp eyes normally picked up on even the tiniest of clues, could find anything unusual.

"Mark – take his address book and the notebook with you. And then let's go."

Back at the office, Eve informed them that the Commissioner had called.

"Let _me_ deal with him," Ironside grumbled, "but I want the address to this phone number first."

xxxx

Commissioner Randall was expecting Ironside impatiently. "Bob, Eve told me that you haven't even _started_ investigating the Hustler case. I don't have to remind you how important that is, do I? Considering that Hustler's brother-in-law wants to run for Governor! What's the problem?"

Ironside considered for a moment whether or not he should fill in the Commissioner.

With a sigh he answered: "Ed's vanished."

Randall was stunned. "You won't tell me that you can't start working on a top priority case because one single Sergeant is a few hours late, will you? He may have a hangover, I suppose. He didn't look too good yesterday. Perhaps you should have reprimanded him then. But that's no reason _not_ to go ahead with this case with the rest of your staff!"

"No, Commissioner, I'm afraid that it is more than that. In Ed's notebook we found the number of Bonsanto Chemicals in Stockton. I think that he was up to something, and I've got the impression that it might be important. Ed's in trouble, I'm sure of it. Let homicide handle the Hustler case and let me and my staff concentrate on finding him. Please."

Ironside begging for something – that was a completely new behavior in their long, complicated relationship. And if Commissioner Randall couldn't withstand a grumbling and abusive Bob Ironside, he could even less a begging one.

"Okay. Do what you have to. But I sure hope that your 'prize pupil' isn't just sleeping off a hangover."

"I wish he was," answered Ironside and left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

In the meantime, Eve had had access to the telephone company's register for Ed's phone calls over the last two weeks. She was comparing that list with the numbers in his address book. "I can't find anything unusual," she regretted. "Except that on Friday morning he contacted directory assistance, and on Thursday evening and later that same night he called three times a number that isn't in his book."

"Have you checked the address to that number?"

"Not yet – but I'll do that immediately," she promised, knowing very well that in this case the Chief would be even more impatient than usually.

Soon afterwards she announced: "It's a private hospital!"

Ironside's mind worked quickly. Was Ed worrying about someone who was sick? Had that been the reason why he'd acted so out of character these past few days?

"Eve – get me a list of all the patients who were at this hospital on Thursday night."

"Already on my way!" Eve waved back and left in a hurry.

Ironside tried to come to terms with the probably most important information: The phone number of Bonsanto Chemicals. What had Ed found out about them – and what had him so worried over the last few days?

Was there a link between Bonsanto Chemicals, Ed's striking lack of sleep, the dirt on his suit and the phone calls to the hospital?

The Chief got angry about his own speculations. He just didn't know _anything_.

Why hadn't Ed told him about his problem? – For he was sure there _was_ a problem. He would have thought that they were friends; that Ed would turn to him instead of trying to work things out on his own. Why hadn't Ed trusted him?

There was an unexpected knock on the door.

"Come in!" Ironside shouted, not too thrilled to be torn away from his considerations.

It was Roberts, the police chemist with the long hair and the brilliant mind.

Ironside estimated the specialist who seemed to be – in his field - almost as capable as himself. "What brings you here?" he asked, already friendlier.

"I thought I should explain to you the results of the analysis you wanted me to do, because it's a little unusual."

"Just a moment – what are you talking about?" Ironside was stunned.

"I mean that soil test Ed brought me yesterday. I told him that this could take some time..."

"Did he really say that _I_ wanted you to analyze it?"

"Well, no, not exactly, I suppose. He just asked me if I could do it for him, and I assumed that you gave the orders. Why – is there anything wrong?"

"No, no – please go ahead. What is it?"

Now that Roberts was back in his element, he devotedly explained the results of his analysis:  
>"The soil was soaked with a liquid containing 2,4,5-trichlorophenoxyacetic acid.<br>That's a powerful herbicide. This substance itself is of only moderate toxicity, but it's contaminated with 2,3,7,8-tetrachlorodibenzodioxin, TCDD in short. It is also inaccurately called 'dioxin' – and it is extremely toxic to humans."

Even a quick-thinking Ironside needed a moment to mentally digest what he had just heard. An incredible thought occurred to him. "Roberts – what you are telling me is that this soil sample contains 'Agent Orange', aren't you?"

"No Sir, that's not correct. It's worse than that. 'Agent Orange' consists of 2,4,5-trichlorophenoxyacetic acid and 2,4-dichlorophenoxyacetic acid, in a mixture of about 50:50. The stuff in Ed's sample is called 'Agent Pink'. Since it consists entirely of 2,4,5-T it contains many times the level of dioxin found in 'Agent Orange', which also contains 2,4-D, in which there is lower dioxin contamination."

Ironside nodded, considering the consequences of what he had just learned. "Thank you, I'm _really_ glad that you explained that to me personally!"

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you that it is not as harmless as it might look.  
>Chief – where did Ed get that herbicide from?"<p>

"My dear Roberts, I would love to know this myself. But you have been very helpful indeed."

"If you see him, tell him to handle that stuff with care!"

Pleased as was always the case when people appreciated his work, Roberts left.

For a moment Ironside sat there lost in his thoughts. What did Ed have to do with herbicides? At least he could now understand his blatant inquietude – supposing Ed had any idea what he was dealing with. At some point he would have to investigate a possible connection between the herbicide and 'Bonsanto Chemicals'. But right now Eve came back with the list of patients. They started to compare it with Ed's phone book. It was a long shot, but they found one possible parallel: The name Frazer. In Ed's book there was a Bill Frazer, and the hospital listed an Eric and a Jamie Frazer, both in pediatrics.

"Those kids could be Bill Frazer's sons," Eve suggested.

"Let's find out! Call this Bill Frazer," Ironside urged her.

Eve did just that but nobody answered the phone. "He might be at work or at the hospital – if those are his children."

"Chief, didn't Ed mention a 'Bill' on Monday? Perhaps he was serious about that after all, and he had something to do with this Bill Frazer!" Mark remembered suddenly. Ironside had already thought about that too. "Let's wait for Eve's results with the hospital!"

Eve had already dialed the number of the hospital. She nodded several times, too agitated to realize that the interlocutor could not see that. "Very well – please tell him to wait for us. It's very important. Yes, thank you." Full of verve she put the receiver down. "He's the father of those boys all right, and he's ready to meet us at the hospital."

"What are we waiting for?" Ironside shouted, glad that there was some progress at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

In pediatrics, a young man seemed to be expecting them. Ironside's schooled mind registered automatically that he was in his early thirties, about six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a worried look on his face.

"Chief Ironside?" he asked, "I'm Bill Frazer."

"Mr. Frazer – thank you for being willing to talk to us. We found your name in Ed Brown's address book. May I ask you what the reason is for your sons being here?"

"Actually I'm their stepfather. And my wife has the same symptoms as the boys, but in a milder form. A few days ago they showed signs of a general malaise. Soon afterwards red blotches appeared on their legs and arms and even on their faces. On Thursday we took them to the hospital. The doctors don't really know what the problem is."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you, Sir. But why are you taking any interest in my family?"

"We found out that Sergeant Brown repeatedly phoned this hospital on Thursday. Did he talk to you?"

"Yes, he did. He asked me several times about changes in the boys' condition. We are old friends. He actually wanted to come by yesterday too."

"I'm afraid that he's been missing since yesterday."

"Oh my God, no! Is there a connection between what happened on Sunday, the illness of my wife and children and Ed's disappearance?"

"What happened on Sunday?"

Bill reported the events at the picnic, the wet ground and Ed's strange behavior.

"When I told him that the boys had fallen ill, he said that I should tell the doctors that they had probably been in contact with some stuff called 'Agent Orange'. He had mentioned that on Sunday already. But the doctors want to wait and see how the disease develops. They are of the opinion that this 'Agent Orange' is harmless to humans and therefore couldn't have caused those symptoms."

Ironside understood: Ed had taken a sample of the contaminated soil to the lab, assuming it was 'Agent Orange', without being sure of it.

"Ed was wrong about that. It wasn't 'Agent Orange' but 'Agent Pink', and I believe that it could very well have caused those symptoms. This might help your family." He pulled his notebook out of his pocket. "This is the analysis of the substance you came in contact with on Sunday. Give this to the physician in charge."

As the head nurse was just passing by, Bill asked her if he could meet with the doctor in question. She knew that he was busy right now, but she promised to get the doctor to talk to him as soon as possible.

Then Bill turned back to Ironside. "Chief - what do you know about that ominous 'Agent Pink'? I don't quite understand the implications of chemical formulas."

"It's an herbicide and defoliant like 'Agent Orange' which is being used by the U.S. military in its herbicidal warfare program in Vietnam. The names come from the stripes in orange or pink painted on the barrels to identify the contents. The problem isn't the solution per se, but a substance called 'Dioxin' with which it is contaminated. _That_ is very toxic to humans. And there's a lot more Dioxin in 'Agent Pink' than in 'Agent Orange'. I hope that the doctors will know what to do about it."

Bill's face showed his mixed emotions: Fear for his boys but also relief because at least he had some information about the cause of their illness.

"Sir, Ed seemed very upset last Sunday. Did he know that it was dangerous – although he thought it was 'Agent Orange'?"

"He might have suspected something, but we don't know what he was afraid of exactly. Perhaps he saw the effect of it on soldiers or civilians in Vietnam. But it's possible as well that he had to face his own traumatic experiences of the war. Ed's not a harsh man. It can be difficult for this kind of men to deal with their memories of the cruelty of the war. Maybe this was the reason for his strange behavior."

Thoughtfully, Bill answered: "When Ed and I first met, he was only in first grade. Ed often encountered Lenny, a boy with Down syndrome. He was about twelve years old and liked to sit by the little pond on Ed's way to school. From time to time he would throw a little stone into the pond and watch delightedly the rings it formed. Ed always greeted him and Lenny waved back. One evening, as Ed was passing by, three bullies were throwing stones at Lenny. Lenny was sobbing helplessly. 'Leave him alone!' Ed ordered. Of course they didn't listen to him, since he was smaller than any of them. One word led to another, and a brawl broke out. Ed fought like a little tiger, nevertheless the end of it was foreseeable since Lenny was no big help. That was when I stepped in. I was taller and stronger than those bullies. Then even Lenny started to defend himself. Shortly afterwards the three of them took to their heels. In our torn clothes, Ed with a bleeding nose and me with a split lip, we escorted Lenny home, and we've remained friends through the years. – What I want to say is that I've never seen Ed being afraid of anything or anybody, that's just not like him. But on Sunday he was scared, and on Thursday night he said that he would have to look into the matter to try and find out what was going on."

Ironside nodded. Bill and himself were definitely talking about the same man.

"That's the way I see him too. And in order to find him I must find out what _he_ found out. It seems to me that everything started at that picnic on Sunday. Can you show me on a map where I can find that picnic area?"

"That's probably too complicated. It's quite a lonely place in the area of Mount Diablo. If you want me to come along with you, give me a minute to tell my wife. She's fond of Ed too; we both want to help find him in any way we can."

Ironside glanced at his wristwatch. "We'll do that tomorrow. I want my aids to accompany us but it would be dark before we could reach the place tonight. I'd like to leave at 8 a.m tomorrow. Thank you for your help."

"Your analysis of 'Agent Pink' might help my family. It's me who has to be grateful – and I sure am!"

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday<strong>

The next day was a Sunday, but the thought of a day off didn't occur to any of them. It took the paddy wagon a little over an hour to reach the picnic area. The terrain was somewhat rough and the absence of a proper path meant that the Chief couldn't go along with Bill, Eve and Mark to search the area.

Bill showed Ironside's staff the place where the model airplane had crashed. It was still lying there, but now all the foliage of the bushes and small trees around it had fallen off. Only the big trees had kept their leaves.

"Looks like that defoliant was somehow emptied out over the area and not sprayed," Mark uttered.

"That would explain why the concentration of it was so high in Ed's ground sample – and why Bill's boys were so badly affected by it," Eve concluded.

"Don't touch anything!" Bill reminded them.

"Let's search the area above this place first," Eve decided.

Since it was a very hot day and the hillside was quite steep, they were sweating and breathing heavily after a few minutes. It was well worth it: Stuck between the roots of a tree Mark found a dented barrel. "That's got to be the source of the stuff!" he exclaimed.

Eve and Bill came by too. "But look!" Eve objected.

The barrel was marked "Bonsanto Chemicals" and bore a stripe in _orange_.

Mark put on plastic gloves and tilted it from side to side. It seemed to be nearly empty.

"From here upwards, the foliage of the bushes is intact; there's only a trace of broken twigs. Let's follow it!"

xxx

Ironside had to do what he hated the most: He had to wait. Of course his thinking didn't stand still. A week ago, Ed and Bill's family had been here in Bill's car. It was an educated guess that Ed had returned here on Thursday night to get the ground sample. Perhaps he could verify that, if he could find marks of two different sets of tires, since this wasn't an official picnic area, but really a kind of 'secret place'. The soil was quite dry and hard making it difficult to single out any tire marks. But Ironside was in no hurry at all. Thoroughly and methodically he went over the whole ground. Finally he found what he was looking for. The marks weren't deep at all, but they were clearly visible for eyes as sharp and trained as Ironside's.

The Chief would have to ask Bill if one set of marks was actually his. But he was quite sure that he recognized Ed's tire marks. And Ed's marks were left _over _the others, which confirmed his guess: Ed's car had been here after Bill's.

There was something strange about those marks though: There wasn't just one crossing over Bill's marks, but _two_. Since there was more than enough space for a car to take a turn, Ironside could see no reason why Ed should have driven back and forth. Did he come here _twice_ perhaps? That led to the speculation that he had probably returned on Friday night. So this might very well be the last place where they knew he had been.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After seemingly endless hours of waiting the Chief heard Eve and Bill come back. Bill confirmed that one set of tire marks belonged to his car indeed.

Eve reported what they had found.

"Ed may have found this drum too. It's marked with an orange stripe and 'Bonsanto Chemicals'. We followed the trail of broken twigs to discover where it came from. Above, there's a narrow, bumpy path. We think that perhaps the barrel fell off a truck. Bill and I followed the path upwards. But we didn't get far because a landslide had covered it. Mark went downwards to see where it was leading ... Look, he's just coming back!"

Mark was as dusty and soaked with sweat as Eve and Bill were. "The path leads to this mountain road, but it's a big detour."

Eve asked the crucial question: "Why is the barrel marked with an orange stripe if it actually contained 'Agent Pink'?"

Mark wanted to make sure that the Chief was on the same page:

"You don't think that Ed took his soil sample from somewhere else, do you?"

Ironside shook his head.

"How do you explain this, Sir?" Bill wanted to know.

"I don't know yet. But we will find out," Ironside answered grimly. "Ed might have found the drum on Thursday and then come back here on Friday after work, the marks are pointing in this direction. Tomorrow I will send every spare police officer out here for a thorough search of the area and to get that drum to our lab. I won't risk that in the paddy wagon without any safety precautions. Now let's go home."

Ironside considered doing some research about 'Bonsanto Chemicals' but, since he had no idea what to look or ask for, he left it at that for the time being. Moreover, he thought, a formal investigation might put Ed's life at risk.

**Monday**

It took the Chief quite some coercing to get the men for his search. The Commissioner still didn't approve. But as usual he couldn't resist Ironside. When the Chief went out with several police officers, he had to do some more waiting since he could hardly get around in his wheelchair on the uneven compound.

His men went over the area with a fine-tooth comb. Behind the landslide, the narrow path went on for about another 300 yards, they reported. Then it ended at the entrance of an abandoned mine. 'No trespassing' signs and two crossed planks were to prevent access to it but farmers and tourists had thrown some trash inside.

The officers came up with a theory: Perhaps the driver of a small truck coming from Stockton – where Bonsanto Chemicals had its headquarters - with at least one 55-gallon drum of 'Agent Orange' – and whatever else – had somehow got lost and taken this path. Because of the potholes in the road he had lost this barrel. He might have driven up to the landslide and then turned around. With a small delivery vehicle this would be possible. The path was too dusty for the policemen to see any distinct marks though.

Ironside wasn't happy with this result: It still didn't explain the discrepancy between the barrel of 'Agent Orange' and Ed's sample with 'Agent Pink'. Eventually he had to stop the search since the thermometer showed almost 100°F and the men were exhausted. At least they had to take the barrel containing 'Agent Orange' – or whatever product - with them in order to have it examined at the lab. Ironside didn't have to remind them twice of being very careful.

Discouraged, the Chief let the officers go back to town and decided to do likewise with his team.

Back to his office Ironside thought about how to go on.

Most probably Ed wanted to know the composition of 'Agent Orange' in order to help Bill's boys and wife. He might very well have found the barrel marked with the orange stripe. But why take the ground sample to the lab _and _write down the phone number of Bonsanto Chemicals – in the obvious intention of using it? Why both? The company could have told him what was in the herbicide as well as the lab. Or did he suspect that something was wrong? But how could he be suspicious _before_ knowing what was in the ground sample?

Something was wrong, but the Chief couldn't quite put his finger on it. He shared his thoughts with Eve and Mark.

"Shall I phone Bonsanto Chemicals and ask them if they know anything about Ed?" Eve asked.

"That's quite a risk: If Ed has investigated this plant and has found out something irregular, then it might be _them_ who are responsible for his disappearance. If Ed is still alive, this might endanger him furthermore."

Ironside knew the police Commissioner of Stockton personally. Finally he decided to ask him directly if he knew anything about any irregularities at Bonsanto Chemicals.

After the usual exchange of courtesies Ironside asked Commissioner Hastings: "Do you know of any recent problems or legal issues at Bonsanto Chemicals – especially concerning herbicides?"

Hastings had to consider this question for a moment. "They have expanded their company significantly since the army started to order thousands of gallons of their herbicides. One thing I know is that they have produced a big amount of a substance called 'Agent Pink'. But in 1965 the army stopped ordering it. Since then they only buy another substance called 'Agent Orange'. Now the company can't get rid of their stock of 'Agent Pink'. If they can't sell it, this will be a considerable financial loss. Other than that I can't think of anything... But why do you ask?"

Since Ironside himself was unsure about what he had expected, he didn't want to unsettle Hastings. "It is possible that a drum full of herbicide fell off a truck somewhere around here. But there doesn't have to be anything illegal about that drum. I'll inform you if there's anything to be concerned about."

Had Ed found out about the stock of 'Agent Pink' at Bonsanto Chemicals? Did he suspect anything illegal behind that?

"Mark, I'll go down to the lab!"

Roberts had given top priority to the analysis of the solution in the barrel, and proudly he presented Ironside with the result: "It's 'Agent Pink', like Ed's sample!"

Ironside took a key out of his pocket and started to scratch the orange stripe on the drum. Underneath, some pink became visible.

"Wow!" exclaimed Roberts, and again: "Wow! Why should anybody do a thing like that?"

"So he can sell his stock of 'Agent Pink' to the Army," Ironside answered grimly. "And if they do something like this, they would not hesitate to kill anybody who might get in their way... for instance a careless Sergeant of detectives."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Chief, you should have dinner and then get some sleep," Mark admonished. Ironside shooed him away – regretting it immediately. "Sorry, Mark. I can't eat right now. Please go ahead and have dinner yourself. Then go to bed. I'll manage."

Mark accepted his wishes, although reluctantly. He could understand though how much Ironside was worrying. He and Ed had been very close, and now the chances of finding him alive were diminishing.

Tuesday

At two a.m. Mark woke up and noticed some light in the main room. He got up to see if Ironside needed anything and found the Chief still sitting in his wheelchair and staring out of his favorite window, probably without seeing anything at all. After the hot day in the sunny mountains the night seemed to be quite chilly. Mark fetched a blanket and laid it around Ironside's shoulders.

"Thanks Mark."

Something was obviously bothering his boss but Mark did not speak up, knowing full well that Ed was at the centre of Ironside's concern.

"Why didn't he say anything?" Ironside thought aloud. "Why didn't he trust me?"

"Chief, Ed's a grown man. It's not your fault if he chose to face this alone."

"Perhaps he would have decided differently if I hadn't barked at him on Friday."

"You only asked for an explanation – what's wrong about that?"

"Nothing," Ironside answered, but he thought that sometimes it's not what you say, but the way you say it.

Mark would have loved to be able to help the Chief. "You can't do anything right now. Don't you want to go to bed?"

"Thanks – but no thanks."

Quietly Mark left. Obviously his boss had to handle this on his own.

At six o'clock in the morning the situation was unchanged. Mark couldn't sleep either. "Chief, I need some fresh air. Do you mind if I go out?"

Ironside shook his head absentmindedly. Even tired as he was, he understood that Mark felt helpless and under a lot of pressure.

Mark wanted to help the Chief so badly. This man had changed his life, had given him some meaning back. Mark had never cared too much about Sergeant Brown. They were too different to be anything else but colleagues: The straight white cop and him, the black ex-con. But Ed was important to Ironside, and Ironside was important to Mark, so he would do anything to find him.

Mark was still convinced that the solution of the riddle lay somewhere out there in the mountains, somewhere around that picnic area. So he decided to go back to that place. He borrowed the dented old car of one of his friends – a 1956 Ford model - and drove out into the mountains. He left the car at the same place as the previous days.

Not entirely sure what he was looking for, he started walking around. He couldn't help thinking about Sgt. Brown. Ed often got the brunt of Ironside's grumpiness. Sometimes Mark despised Brown because he didn't defend himself. In his eyes the Sergeant was a coward. But giving it another thought he suddenly wasn't so sure about that anymore. Brown had worked with the Chief when he could still walk. He probably understood better than Mark how tough the handicap was for Ironside. Perhaps Ed was still fighting his feeling of pity towards his boss. Of course he was too decent to tell Ironside that sitting in a wheelchair didn't excuse his being nasty towards others. Ed certainly empathized with Ironside. Perhaps he wasn't a coward after all, but more likely a sensitive, caring, devoted friend.

And, what was equally important was that Ed had never ever let Mark feel any negative emotions about his past. No – perhaps he was just a man who tried very hard to do the right thing. Perhaps they would even be more than colleagues one day. They had to find him. He belonged to their team.

Ironside couldn't be wrong about everything starting at that picnic area – he never was. But how should he, Mark, find a clue those cops couldn't find yesterday? Coming here may have been a silly idea after all.

He gave up after two hours and drove back home reluctantly – a lot slower than usually, not really wanting to walk into the office without any new hope for the Chief. After about three miles, far below the area which the police had searched all day on Monday, he stopped abruptly: At a turn there were two parallel marks leading downwards into a canyon. There wasn't anything distinctive about them but they most likely belonged to a car. He hadn't noticed them previously because he hadn't paid attention, and Chief Ironside couldn't have seen them since he was riding in the back of the paddy wagon. Mark parked the car and followed the marks downwards. He had to climb around some rocks towards a little creek – and there he saw the car that had left those marks: A burnt out wreck... but somehow looking all too familiar! Although he felt a twinge in his heart, he forced himself to climb down into the creek. He didn't touch anything when he tried to look into the car and around it. Deep in thoughts he climbed back up out of the canyon and to the Ford. Cautiously, but as fast as he dared, he drove back to town.

The Chief was sitting at the octagonal table. He looked ten years older than just a few days ago, and almost haggard. His hope of finding Ed alive was fading, and his face was showing it.

He had solved the case all right: Bonsanto Chemicals tried to sell their 'Agent Pink' for 'Agent Orange'. At a supposed price of $7 per gallon, using drums containing 55 gallons, this would earn them about $385 per drum. For – say - 10,000 gallons, this was already $70,000... but they just couldn't prove that there was more than one of those drums.

But he didn't really care about Bonsanto Chemicals right now. All he cared about was his Sergeant.

Eve tried to read some files, without much success though. A small poster caught her attention: It was the missing person report she had put out at the Chief's command, just to be on the safe side:

Edward D. Brown, age 28, missing since Friday.

Description: height 6 ft 2, slim build, brown hair, brown eyes, no particular

characteristics…

Eve thought that such a description did not do justice to a person. In fact this man was far from 'brown'. And he had some very particular characteristics: He was level-headed, reliable, caring and friendly. The Chief was often gruff towards him, but only because he saw him as his prize pupil. Would he ever have a chance to grow into the leader Ironside wanted him to become? Was he still alive at all?

Bill Frazer came by at about ten: "Betty and the boys came home yesterday. Thanks to the analysis of 'Agent Pink' the doctors have been able to diagnose their illness as 'chloracne', caused by dioxin. This isn't good news, but at least they can be treated properly now."

It would probably be months, if not years, before they would be healed completely. At least they could hope for a full recovery.

"But what about Ed? Somehow I feel responsible for him: I've always considered it my duty to watch out for him, as he used to fight for those who couldn't defend themselves – and now I owe it to him more than ever for having helped my boys."

Ironside didn't answer. There _was_ no answer.

Mark stormed in, forgetting to greet the two men and Eve.

"Chief, I've found something. I think it's important," he shouted.

Ironside looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, nevertheless he seemed wide alert.

"I went back to that picnic area," Mark explained, "and on my way I found a burnt out car. I think it is Ed's."

Ironside's face turned a shade paler. He hadn't really been expecting that his friend was still alive, but this...

"Did you see a corpse in the car?"

"No, I didn't – although I can't be sure, the windows were almost black. To me, the car looked empty. But I didn't want to destroy any possible evidence."

The Chief took a deep breath. "Bill, Eve – the Commissioner won't give me any men for another wild goose chase, so let's go just the four of us."

Bill left the Chevy where it was and joined the team in the paddy wagon. Again they drove out into the mountains.

Mark parked at the same place as a good two hours before.

Ironside wheeled himself to the spot where the marks started: Not on the road, but on the dry soil of the roadside. They seemed to match the profile of Ed's tires. "Mark, help Eve get down there. Try to find out whatever you can. Especially I want to know if there are any footprints apart from Mark's. Eve – dust the door handles for fingerprints, if possible." Ironside had to restrain himself from showing to his staff how frustrated he was. It would have been so extremely important for him to get down to that car. With his experience he could have seen clues which could escape Eve and Mark.

Bill also helped to guide Eve. She had to lead the investigation, since – but for the Chief - she was the only police officer present.

Between the stones, there was some sandy ground, and she could vaguely distinguish a set of footprints besides the car. "Mark, please put your foot beside one of these footprints."

"Okay, but I know that they are mine anyway. I was standing here this morning." They couldn't find any traces of another human being having stood near the car, but of course they couldn't be sure that they had not missed anything.

After a quick glance through windows obscured by carbon particles, Eve dusted the only more or less intact door handle, as Ironside had told her. But there was nothing distinctive. The fire had destroyed whatever traces there might have been. Carefully, Mark tried to open the driver's door. It was jammed. As Mark pulled on it with all his strength, it gave way. Now they could be sure that there wasn't anybody sitting on the charred seats. Spontaneously Eve embraced Mark at first and then Bill. "Oh thank God, I'm so glad. There's still hope!"

Mark shouted upwards: "Looks like there's nobody in the car!"

"What about footprints?"

"Only the ones I left this morning!"

"Then come back up here!" Ironside shouted back.

"Don't we have to search the area?"

"No!"

With hearts a lot lighter, the three young people climbed up out of the canyon to where Ironside was waiting.

In the meantime the Chief had been looking for marks on the road itself. There were none. None at all.

"Ed is a good driver. He couldn't have gone over the edge without even trying to slow down. But do you see any skid marks? I don't. From this alone I'd swear that he wasn't in that car when it went down."

Quickly, Eve followed his thinking: "And now you wonder why his car is down there without him."

"Because somebody wanted to put it there – either to hide it or to make it look like Ed was dead," Mark answered.

"And that would mean that he could still be alive!" Bill said, relieved.

"Don't jump to conclusions," Ironside warned. "I'd say that it is possible that he was still alive when his car was destroyed – if he wasn't killed elsewhere. And even if not – we still don't know anything about him."

The Chief didn't want his friends to keep their hopes up too high. But in front of his inner eye he saw an image: The only place they hadn't searched thoroughly the day before was that landslide on the road above the picnic area. They had to go back there. He wanted to be sure that there was nothing hidden behind those debris.

When they reached the landslide, he had Mark take the pick and Bill the shovel that had been left in the paddy wagon after the previous search.

After giving Ironside a skeptical look both men started digging.

Eve articulated what they all thought: "But Chief – if Ed's been under or behind these debris, he couldn't possibly be alive anymore! Nobody can survive more than four days in this dry heat without any water!"

Ironside didn't answer. He wanted to tell her that this was Ed Brown they were talking about – a strong, fit young man who might be too stubborn to die. Or that he had heard of people who survived in cool caves for more than _ten_ days. But he didn't. This wasn't a cool cave: If there was _any_ cave at all it was located on the south-facing slope of the mountain. And Ed had already been exhausted _before_ he had vanished.

It was himself who was being stubborn and who didn't want to believe that his friend was dead.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Ed took a look at his wristwatch. From time to time he just _had_ to do so, since the luminous hands were the only thing he could see in the complete darkness that surrounded him. It was two o'clock, a.m. or p.m.? Actually it didn't matter. How long had he been here now – locked in a disused mine together with about 200 barrels of poison? Four days, five, more? His mind seemed to be getting fuzzy, thinking straight was getting more and more difficult.

In order to turn his attention away from the splitting headache and the increasing stomach cramps, he thought back to what had happened since Thursday:

As a way of helping Bill's kids and wife he had decided to get a sample of the soil with the substance that had made them sick. He couldn't just assume that it was 'Agent Orange' because of the smell. He would have to prove it. He had found the nearly empty barrel of 'Agent Orange' and wondered where it came from and if there was more somewhere. Then he had found two old mines on the path above the picnic area. The mine at the end of the path was barricaded and looked derelict, which was not the case of the second mine further down the same path. It was barricaded too but when Ed used his flashlight to look between the wooden boards, he saw a metallic reflection. Against his better judgement, he had removed a board to be able to get inside. After taking a few steps, he had found what he had been looking for: drums. Dozens and dozens of them. After making sure that there was no one around, he had examined the drums closer. These were not marked with an orange stripe painted around though, but with a _pink_ one. 'Bonsanto Chemicals, Stockton' was written on top, like on the almost empty drum he had found earlier. Making a quick count, Ed had estimated that this mine contained about 200 drums of the dangerous chemical.

Since the night had almost been over by then, Ed had hurriedly gone home after stopping by the picnic area again, this time to take a soil sample. Once home, he had asked directory assistance for the number of Bonsanto Chemicals. But it had been too early in the morning to get somebody on the phone. He had just taken the time for a quick shave and to get his mail before making his way to the lab, bringing the ground sample with him. After that he had phoned Bonsanto Chemicals again. The chemist in charge had told him that 'Agent Orange' was harmless and 'Agent Pink' wasn't being used anymore, which had confirmed Ed's suspicion that something might be wrong with the drums in the mine. They couldn't have been just abandoned there: They would rust until their content would spill in the mine, causing a major environmental disaster in only a few years' time! And what about the other barrel, the one with the orange stripe? A strange suspicion had made its way in his mind: Had the substance in the first barrel actually been 'Agent Orange' – or could it have been 'Agent Pink', bearing the wrong stripe in order to be sold to the army? Conveniently located between Stockton and the harbor, was the mine being used to re-paint the stripes on the drums? He would have to wait for the result of the analysis.

He had considered asking the Chief for help, but Ironside had already been in a bad mood because of his lateness. In fact he hadn't had any tangible proof to back his suspicions, and he had feared Ironside's acerbic remarks if he would show up with such a vague theory. So he had gone back to the mine that same evening to take some photos and a sample of the content of one of the barrels in order to compare it with his previous ground sample. In his haste to get the sample, Ed had been careless. He had thought that the mine was deserted but somebody must have been waiting for him: out of the corner of his eye he had caught a shadow. He had not had time to pull his gun out of its holster before everything went black. The shadow had hit him on the head causing him to pass out.

Upon regaining consciousness he had the mother of all headaches, a bump on his head and no idea where he was. His flashlight lay in pieces under his body. He could not find the camera or the rest of his equipment either. In the total darkness he felt the uneven ground around him. There was a lot of dust, sand and grit – and cold metal: The drums. Moving away from those drums he soon touched a stony wall. So he had to be still in the cave. Why was it so dark though? Should he not at least have seen some stars or the moonlight? Ed did not remember the cave to be _that_ deep... Using the drums as a landmark, he moved carefully to where the entrance had been. But there _was_ no entrance. All his hands could feel were rocks, stones, debris. Ed checked and double-checked the mine with his bare hands, which cost him a lot of time. Then he was sure: there was no way out.

He sat down and supported his aching head with his hands.

The entrance was too big to just close it up with a few shovelfuls of dirt and stones. Ed thought about the possibilities of blocking the entrance of a mine. A landslide? How convenient for the people of Bonsanto Chemicals! Too convenient to be a coincidence. Had they prepared an artificial landslide just in case that the mine's content might be discovered? With dynamite you could cause quite a landslide in the mountains.

Ed set out to dig a hole through the wall of debris and dirt. The task proved impossible with his bare hands, so he gave up trying to dig his way out to freedom.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Ed needed water, fast. From his thorough search he knew that there was no water in the mine, it was absolutely dry and stifling. During the day, the temperature inside went up to about 100 °F. At night, it cooled down a little, but not much.

How could it be so hot under the surface of the earth? The mine was located on the south-facing slope of the mountain, so the stones might be heated up somewhat. Was this the explanation for the heat? Ed remembered reading about hot springs being found underground. Perhaps the people who excavated this mine hit one. They might even have built a wall to keep the water away but if so, he had not been able to locate it. Now that the entrance of the mine was sealed, air could not circulate, which might have led to this unnaturally high temperature. How long would he be able to go on in this dry heat?

He tried to hatch a plan but his mind was not in full working order anymore. All he could think about was that he had to get out of there as quickly as possible. Panicking, he wanted to start digging again but he didn't have the strength.

Ed was at the end of his rope. Of course all of this was his own fault: He shouldn't have come here without any backup, and - the most stupid idea - without even telling the Chief where he was going. He was well aware that he was facing death, although that didn't seem important anymore. What mattered were Bill's kids: Eric and Jamie. Perhaps the analysis of 'Agent Pink' – for Ed was quite convinced now that the substance wasn't 'Agent Orange' - could save them, but he wasn't able to communicate that to Bill or to the doctors.

A silent prayer formed in his head. Ed kept repeating it like a broken record: "Good Lord – please, don't let them die!" – Or else their deaths would be his fault too. God could not let two children suffer because of _his_ mistakes, could he? "Please, God, don't let them die, please save them!"

He must have lost consciousness again. The next thing he knew was that something had hit him on the shoulder – maybe a stone as he was sitting near the entrance. He extended his hand to confirm it. The wall of dirt and rocks was still blocking access to – and exit from – the mine. Ed withdrew further back into the mine. He thought he heard a noise but he could not trust his senses any longer, not in his state of dehydration. His ears picked up something again: There was somebody outside, probably with a shovel or a pick. Who could it be? The people of Bonsanto Chemicals, some roadmen or perhaps his friends?

Should he shout to let whoever was on the other side know that he was there? What if it was someone who wanted him dead?

His mind wasn't working properly anymore, Ed was aware of that much at least. He would be dead in a few hours – a day at most – anyway. So he might as well shout. He tried... but he couldn't get out a single sound. Instead his effort caused a coughing spasm and he didn't get enough air anymore. He fainted again.

His next conscious feeling was a cool breeze on his face...


	9. Chapter 9

Ed's next conscious feeling was a cool breeze on his face. He opened his eyes and could see some light. Not much, but there definitely was a break in the wall of his prison. A man was standing there... his silhouette clearly recognizable against the night sky. Ed struggled to his feet. He had to steady himself against the wall to keep his balance. He managed to take a few steps towards the man, before he stumbled. He didn't fall down as Mark had rushed inside to help his colleague and provide some support. Ed was now leaning on Mark, with one arm around his neck. Bill entered the mine next and quickly caught Ed's other arm. Between the two of them they managed to help the Sergeant out of the mine.

A frustrated and worried Ironside was sitting in his wheelchair in front of the mine. Shock registered on his face upon seeing Ed. There seemed to be only a remote resemblance between the ghostly-looking, shaky, dirty figure in front of him and his neat Sergeant... but he felt an overwhelming relief. They had found him in time. "Eve, get some water – quick!"

The police woman, who had been standing and watching in disbelief, hurried to fetch a bottle of water.

Ed opened his mouth to say something – but nothing came out, no sound at all.

"Ed - don't try to talk. Have some water first."

The men helped Ed sit down on the lifting platform of the paddy wagon. Eve gave him a glass of fresh water. Ed took a sip – and turned his head away from his friends. Swallowing seemed to be impossible, and they shouldn't see his struggle. Nevertheless Ironside noticed his trouble. "Easy. Don't push yourself. It's going to hurt at first. Eve, there is a towel in one of the cupboards."

Eve drenched the towel before handing it to Ed to moisten his lips. Since he could not drink, this would at least help put some fluid back into his body. But Ed was still embarrassed because of his condition, along with his careless actions.

"Sss..." he tried. Ironside understood. Ed wanted to apologize.

"It's all right, Ed. We've found you, and we know about Bonsanto Chemicals."

But there was more. With clumsy fingers Ed fished his notebook and pencil out of his pocket and wrote something down. Then he showed the notebook to Bill. "Eric + Jamie?" was on the page, hardly legible.

"They are fine, just fine. Don't worry." Bill thought that this was bending the truth slightly. He could only pray that they _would_ be fine.

At long last Ed was able to relax and rest his sore head against the frame of one of the back doors.

Ironside decided that they had to get him to hospital to make sure that he would not be suffering from side effects. Mark and Bill helped Ed into the paddy wagon, placing a glass of water within his reach so he could drink whenever he felt up to it.

Carefully Mark drove back to town. Ironside radioed to headquarters for some officers to secure the evidence.

Before they reached San Francisco, Ed fetched his notebook. "No hospital, please. Office." he wrote.

Eve reacted vehemently: "But Ed...!"

Ed scribbled indignantly: "I'm hoarse, not sick!"

The Chief suppressed a smile. This was the stubborn Sergeant he liked. He was considering whether he could take the risk. Ed was already swallowing more easily now. And obviously he wanted to stay with his friends right now.

Back at headquarters they split up: Bill went home to his family. Ed took a bath. Eve helped Mark prepare some soup for all of them, since Ed wouldn't be able to eat anything solid. The Chief phoned the Commissioner to give him the outline of the story, refusing to come down to give a full report tonight.

When Ed, clad in Mark's tracksuit, came out of the bath, he was surprised to see Ironside browsing a bible.

The Chief looked up at him. The Sergeant's eyes were still deeply sunken in his face, and he looked gaunt and exhausted, but he was definitely Ed Brown again.

Curiously, Ed looked into the bible. Ironside showed him the interesting verse he had found:

Deuteronomy 20:19

"When thou shalt besiege a city a long time, in making war against it to take it, thou shalt not destroy the trees thereof by forcing an axe against them: for thou mayest eat of them, and thou shalt not cut them down (for the tree of the field is man's life) to employ them in the siege."

"That's still as true as ever," Ironside said quietly. "When the trees are dead, there will follow landslides and erosion. The forests are an important part of the livelihood of the people in Vietnam."*

Ed took a pencil and wrote down: "We didn't think of the forests. We only thought of the enemy." Then he crossed out what he had written and corrected: "No, we only thought of ourselves."

"Yes, Ed. I understand that. It's not up to the soldiers out there to think of that. It's up to us.  
>Did you also see the effect of 'Agent Orange' on people?"<p>

Ed nodded and penciled: "During the last weeks I spent there, when I was in hospital. It's not true that it is harmless for humans."

Thoughtfully Ironside went on: "There are people who warn that 'Agent Orange' is dangerous. But the government doesn't listen to them. It's not the right time for such thoughts yet. We can't even stop Bonsanto Chemicals to sell the rest of their 'Agent Pink' as 'Agent Orange'. They just have to put it into new drums. We can't examine all of them."

Neither man spoke for a while – an uneasy silence settled between them while they pondered the consequences of Ed's discovery.

Then Ironside became aware of the crestfallen look in Ed's eyes.

For his friend's sake he forced himself to add:  
>"Ed – how many drums were there in that cave? About 200? 'Agent Pink' contains many times the level of dioxin found in 'Agent Orange'. How many people do you think you have saved from getting as sick as Bill's children and even from dying?<br>Look, we can't stop the evil. But we can't stop _trying_ either – and save as many people from suffering and dying as possible. That's got to be enough."

* * *

><p><em>*Neither of them was to know that because of the dioxin hundreds and thousands of people would be killed or maimed, and even more children would be born with birth defects.<em>

**_Author's notes:_**

_Thank you, dear Lemonpig73, for your patience, your imagination, the lost hours of sleep and for your willingness to compromise!_

_Thank you all for your wonderful, motivating reviews! _


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